


tie a sheet to the bed

by orphan_account



Series: tomorrow they'll see what we are [2]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Friendship, Gen, Trauma, other characters (mentioned) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:36:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crutchie Morris has some pretty great friends. He needs to look out for them when he can.





	tie a sheet to the bed

The most surprising thing about returning from his stay in the Refuge, Crutchie thinks, is how much he finds he suddenly _understands_.

It's not to say that he hasn't had his fair share of hardships, what with losing his leg and later his family to sickness and then nearly dying on the streets before Jack found him and brought him to the Lodging House. He knows loss and fear, pain and suffering, poverty and the unending drive to defy a world that beats you down — knows them just as well as the other boys. If anything, he probably knows some of them better — his leg hasn't stopped hurting for as long as he can remember, after all, and there are days where it coils around him and creeps up his spine until it takes _everything_ he's got just to get out of bed and eat. 

But despite his disability, Crutchie's never felt particularly helpless. When they were alive, his family took care of him as well as they could — his mum teaching him what she little she knew ( _even if they'd been able to afford school, he wouldn't have been able to get there_ ), his older sister singing him songs until he could pipe along with harmonies of his own, his father carrying him from his bed to the dinner table and to a seat in front of the fire when winter's chill soaked through the thin walls of their home. And after they were gone ( _one after the other, until he was the only one left_ ), and he'd been taken in by the Manhattan Newsies — well, he learned to be self-sufficient. Someone ( _who never spoke up to take the credit they were really due_ ) whittled him a crutch from a branch brought down by a spring storm, and within months he was able to get around as well as the rest of the boys ( _on his good days_ ).

He can stand up for himself just fine — he knows how to throw a mean punch, or brace himself on his good leg to wallop anyone getting funny ideas with his crutch — and between that and the rest of the boys being oddly determined to look out for him ( _Specs and Jack in particular have spectacularly nasty looks reserved for anyone who seems like they might be threatening him_ ), he's never considered himself weak or defenseless. Maybe he can't move fast, but he can stand his ground and give as good as he's got.

After returning from the Refuge?

As the newsies settle back into their normal routine and he makes his way to his normal selling spot, Crutchie finds himself looking back over his shoulder as he goes. What he's wary of, he's not sure, but the feeling of danger and unsettling wrongness seems to chase at his heels like an overexcited dog made of shadows and a few too many teeth. Or, perhaps, like a young man with a face made of hard lines and hands a little heavy to be made of just flesh and blood.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand ( _a normal weight, a hand that feels like nothing but a hand, but still—_ ) rests on his shoulder, and a familiar voice speaks over his shoulder.

"Hey, kid. Mind if I join you today?" Jack's voice sounds warm, if a bit tired, and his grin looks like it's almost sincere when Crutchie turns to look at him with a heart almost beating its way out of his chest. The leader of the Manhattan newsies seems almost normal, but Crutchie remembers just how violently Jack was trembling earlier when they embraced after his return, and can still feel light tremors originating from the spot where they touch ( _or is that him? could be_ ).

He smiles, and makes sure it reaches the rest of his face as well. "The great Jack Kelly, sellin' papes with little old me? Oh _my_ , such _luck_ , such _flattery_ —"

"Yeah, yeah, I gets it." Jack's own smile looks a bit more sincere, and he tugs off Crutchie's cap to ruffle his hair into even more of a mess than usual. "So, where's we headed? Same spot?"

"Same spot, yeah. You'se not sellin' with Davey and Les today?"

A snort is his first response. "I'se seen more'n enough of them recently, an' not nearly enough of you." It's an obvious way of dancing around what's happened, but there's a tightness around Jack's eyes that seems so achingly familiar that Crutchie knows he's not ready to talk about it yet. " 'Sides, I think I needs a bit of normal after— y'know, everything. Can you believe it ain't even been more'n a week?"

No, he can't. He was only gone for perhaps a few days, but it feels like it's been so much longer. Somehow, the foundations of their life have been shaken, and Crutchie's sure he's not the only one still feeling as though they might break under his feet at any moment. He and Jack sell their papes, exchange congratulations and wishes with every other working kid they see, ignore the eyes watching them like predators not sure whether or not to pounce. For the first time, he feels afraid of them, even with Jack there at his side.

They part once their papes are sold, Crutchie heading back as soon as he can to return to the relative safety of the Lodging House and the comfort of a bit of food and rest. Jack disappears into the night, promising he'll return later, and if there's a brittle look to his smile as he says that — well, Crutchie won't say anything. 

He _trusts_ Jack.

But Jack doesn't come back in time for supper, and the younger boys start going to bed. Race slips out the door to wherever he often goes in the evenings, and Specs and Romeo start a game of cards with one of his decks ( _Race has probably twenty, though only two of them are actually complete_ ) that Crutchie joins after a little prompting. Soon, Albert and Elmer are coerced into playing as well, and they bet with wood chips and scrap metal to make it a bit more fun without risking their hard-earned pay. Outside, the sky grows dark, and one by one the newsboys leave the game to head towards the realm of sleep. By the time the sun is just a sliver on the horizon, and the colors painting the sky have darkened to purples and blues, it's just him left to sit in the entrance hall with a candle casting shadows on the walls, waiting.

After a little while, which he spends making shadow puppets in the candle's glow, the door swings open with Race's usual abrupt energy. "Crutchie, you'se still up? You ain't waitin' for Jack, are you?"

"He said he'd be back later, and I'se gonna be here for him when later comes."

Race chews on his cigar for a few moments before sliding down the wall opposite Crutchie and settling himself into a comfortable sitting position, taking off his hat and running thin fingers through his hair. "Well, I'll keep you company. If he ain't back tonight, you'se gonna need some help on the stairs, ain'tcha?"

Unbidden, Crutchie feels himself smiling. This is safe, this is what his normal is. This is home. "You're a real pal, Racetrack."

"And you'se too kind for your own good, Crutchie."

He wouldn't say he's kind, but after today he's gotten the feeling that if a few days in the Refuge have this much of an impact on him, all of Jack's little eccentricities suddenly make a lot more sense, and not in a way he likes. The need for freedom, open space, a place away from everything they have to fight off with steel in their spines and darting eyes — he _gets_ it now, in a way he didn't quite get it before. "Well, Jack's been down today. I'se worried about him, you know?"

To his surprise, Race just sighs and hangs his head for a moment, cigar gripped loosely in one hand as the other one braces his forehead. "Yeah, me too. He just gets those moments when you'se not sure if he's really _here_ or not, right? Like you'se gotta hold on tight to him, or he'll up and fly away somewhere we's not gonna be able to follow." He slumps back against the wall, eyes rolling upwards at the door. Crutchie tugs his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them for some semblance of comfort as Race continues. "I, uh— I met up with Spot earlier. Let him know Jack was still out, seeing as Jack'll listen to him even if he ain't gonna listen to us."

Crutchie nods and sighs, resting his chin on his knees and ignoring the pain in his leg as he curls up just a bit tighter. Race's expression relaxes into something a bit warmer. "Hey, I'm sure he'll be back, yeah? Don't you worry about him, Crutchie. Jack ain't gonna leave you."

"... ain't what I'se worried about."

The candle between them flickers and splutters, a sole light in the darkness of the sleeping house and the quiet night. Crutchie closes his eyes, waiting, and only barely hears Race's quiet answer.

"Yeah, me too."

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to do another one, and I guess I did?
> 
> This one directly ties to _if i can't count on you today_ , but it's sort of Crutchie's side of the day. I might do more later for Race and Spot, to round out the bundle, if I have the inspiration.
> 
> I got some lovely responses to the last one, so thank you!! Please comment on this one as well if you like it! <3


End file.
